


Support

by waterbird13



Series: Tumblr Fics [147]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inconsistent pov, Mental Illness, Stanford Era, between chapters I mean, improvement, lack of home support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7940965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>School was supposed to fix this thing, whatever it is, inside Sam.</p><p>It doesn't work. Not on its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is another series I'm bringing over from Tumblr.
> 
> Warnings: Sam is clearly depressed. He gets no support at home. This mostly takes place at Stanford (chapter one is just before), and he meets his OC RA, who helps him.

Alone. Always so fucking alone.

Sam clutches his backpack closer and wishes he hadn’t had that fucking growth spurt. It was easier, when he could disappear, blend into the background, when no one noticed the short, skinny shrimp of a new kid anyways. Now he’s half a head taller than everyone and he _hates it_. Scrunching up will only get him so far.

They’re all watching him. Judging him. The kid who can’t make it work, can’t sort his shit out and get it together. Can’t be a halfway decent hunter, a respectable family member, a good student. Not worth much of anything.

They’ve only known him for half a day and Sam’s sure they all already know.

Other kids aren’t like this. Other kids are good at shit and pull it together and don’t feel the striking, crippling apathy at the very thought of facing another day for weeks, months at a time.

That probably means he’s just a fuck-up. Other kids can handle life. Sam can’t. He’s just defective.

It sounds like his Dad’s voice in his head when he hears the snort. _Defective. Good way to put it. Can’t do much of anything right, and you expect sympathy because it’s hard_.

No. No, he doesn’t, not anymore. He’s learned that lesson. No one’s going to give it to him, and he’s only more defective for needing it. He can…well, if not function, at least pretend at it.

Sam supposed that he, at the very least, is a halfway decent actor. _Halfway decent liar_.

It’s the only thing he has going for himself. He’ll take it.

He makes it through the school day, although he’s not honestly sure how. Mostly by sitting in the back and pretending he’s nowhere. He’s nowhere and no one cares and there’s nothing. It’s not a peaceful thought necessarily, but it’s the most peaceful one he has.

He walks back to the motel, a slow trudge. It terrifies him how often the thought of veering to the right, stepping in front of the next oncoming truck, crosses his mind. He resists, mostly because it’s enough work to put one foot in front of the other, over and over.

 _Lazy,_  he scolds himself. _It could all be over._

_Coward. Pathetic, useless coward._

He makes it back to the motel as John is getting impatient. Right. Friday. The hunt. They’re leaving for the weekend. Hopefully just for the weekend.

Sam should care whether it’s a weekend or a month or forever. He has before.

John shakes his head. “It’s like you don’t even fucking care about the job,” he says.

Sam wishes he had the energy to smile. He doesn’t, but he doesn’t care about it more or less than anything else.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything he ever wanted, and he still can’t be fucking happy.

He thought walking out of the life he hated would help. He’d find himself a place he likes, and he’d be happy. He’d let go of this crippling hatred–no, worse, when it’s its absolute worse it’s not hatred, it’s pure apathy, and Sam knows that feeling well–and he’d be happy, for once.

Stanford. School. Sam’s always liked school, it’s made him happy when he was capable of feeling that way, so he thought, if he could be in that space forever, away from hunting and moving and the crippling fear of what comes next, then he could let go of this funk–eight years, an eight year long funk–and be happy, finally.

It worked, at first. School makes him happy, and Stanford makes him happier still. It’s anxiety-inducing, sure, to know there’s a whole world he has no idea how to navigate, but Sam’s trained himself to be adaptable. He makes it work.

He’s happy.

And then he’s not.

It hits him out of the blue, slow at first then all at once. Just a little less inclination to do his homework. A little harder to get out of bed. Less joy in the friends he has, because, well, he’s lying to them anyways, isn’t he? They’re not really his friends, are they? Does he even belong here?

The place he was supposed to be happy, and he had to ruin it too.

It gets worse. He lets homework slide past the point of no return. He stays in bed for days at a time, can’t muster the energy to shower, can’t remember the last time he did his laundry. His roommate is worried, but Sam can’t focus on his nudges. He just wants it to be _quiet._  He needs it to all be quiet.

He could never shut up this noise within the loud, frightening world of hunting, but he thought here would be different. He thought he could shut it up, manage, make it work…

But he can’t. Dad and Dean were right, he’s not cut out for this. Not cut out for school, for normal people. But he wasn’t cut out for hunting, either. He’s always known that, and it’s the worst part, the complete lack of shock when he realizes he simply isn’t meant to belong anywhere.

Maybe he shouldn’t be anywhere, either. Maybe he should just…end the problem. Fix things, for once in his life. Let it all be over.

He closes his eyes and sighs. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow he’ll have the energy to do what has to be done.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam’s not even sure how long he’s been in bed–not sure if it’s day or night, thinks he probably smells bad and that he’s probably hungry but he honestly can’t be bothered–when the door opens.

That in and of itself isn’t unusual. Sam has a roommate. He comes home sometimes. Sam tends to ignore it.

But this time, it’s not his roommate and they walk straight over to his bed.

Sam recognizes that face. This is his RA, Toni, and her hands are on her hips and a frown pursing her lips. Sam can’t even muster up the energy to turn his head and look away.

“Right,” she says. “Well, he should have come to me like a week ago, but better late than never, I guess. And maybe it’s my fault. I should’ve noticed you not walking past my room or anything.”

He blinks, not even sure what to say to that.

She sits on the edge of his bed and does an honorable job at pretending it’s not gross. It is, Sam’s pretty sure.

“Right,” she says again. She runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the ends. “Look, I’ll be honest. You need help Sam.”

He needs to be able to stand upright. Just an hour of energy and motivation would do, really. He could do a lot with an hour.

“And we’re equipped to give it to you. I mean, I’m here to listen, but there are real, honest-to-god therapists here. And they’re good. You’re not the first college freshman to need some help, okay?”

Sam jerks at that. “I don’t need…that’s not for me,” he manages to say. _Weak_ , he hears, and it sounds like John.

“Uh…I think you are the exact person it was meant for. Nothing personal, but you’re in rough shape here, Sam. And I’ll be honest with you. Since no one can determine when you ate last other than _too fucking long ago_ , if we don’t make serious progress soon I’m going to have to call the building advisor and she’ll probably call an ambulance.”

Well. That’s even worse.

“Right. Can I make you an appointment?” she asks, playing with what Sam realizes is her cellphone. “It’s easy, I promise. I click some buttons, call them up, tell them you wanna get in tomorrow. I walk you over tomorrow, or your roommate can if you guys are close or another friend or whoever. And you go to your appointment and they help you talk for an hour and they get you some help, Sam. I swear it helps.”

“School was…this was my help,” he says despondently. “This was supposed to make me better. If I can’t even be happy here…”

“Yeah, well, I have news for you. I’m no doctor but I’m pretty sure you’re depressed. And that’s brain chemistry, Sam. You can’t will yourself into being not depressed and it’s hard as hell to do on your own. Trust me. But give it a go with the therapist. See what happens. What’s there to lose?”

She’s not going to leave him alone until he does. And the things she’s saying…

It’s not like he’s never heard the word depression. Just never thought it could apply to him. _Weak_ , John’s voice says again. _Attention-seeking_.

 _Brain chemistry. Science_ , he says. Science is real. He believes it.

And anyway, what’s there to lose? It’s not like he can’t change his mind.

So he nods. “Okay,” he manages.

Her smile practically splits her face. “Great! I’m going to call them. Then I’m going to call a friend of mine to run out and pick you up a meal, and bring my laptop and some movies. So start thinking what you want to eat, okay?”


	4. Chapter 4

She has her friend bring the kid soup. Cadie is a lifesaver, really, not even on duty tonight but willing to run out and grab soup and rolls and packets of crackers. She even throws in a pack of cookies, just in case Sam is up for those later.

Toni doesn’t think Sam will be, but she can hope. Honestly, though, she just wants to get soup in him. Otherwise, she really will have to call an ambulance, and the kid’s introduction to psychiatry assistance may be very, very different.

She firmly ushers Cadie out and turns back to Sam, who’s half-heartedly sitting up in bed, looking like that’s the most he’s done in days. The room smells, and she does her best to pretend not to notice. But it does.

A lot of her resident’s have disgusting rooms, especially the guys. College freshmen have no grasp on hygeine half the time, letting laundry pile up for two months and dishes they’re not supposed to have sit unwashed, half-eaten takeout lying out and ramen spilling onto the floor. This doesn’t even begin to touch at their personal hygiene habits.

But Sam never struck her as one of those. Maybe it’s because he always had so little, but the first and only other time she came into his room, everything on his side was neat and in place, the room spotless. He seems a conscientious, careful, clean kid.

Depression will do this to a person, though. Tasks once easy made difficult, sometimes difficult past the point of impossibility. 

“Hungry?” she asks. Even as it leaves her mouth she thinks it’s probably a stupid question. He’s probably not hungry, but he does kind of have to eat regardless.

Sam doesn’t answer, just takes the styrofoam container of soup and starts spooning it into his mouth, slow and listless about it but at least progress is being made. Granted, it takes him half an hour or so to even make a dent in that bowl, but she’ll take what she can get.

When he sets it aside, she determinedly hands him crackers, and he eats one. It’s good enough.

She debates mentioning a shower, then decides she’s pushing her luck. He’s still sitting up in bed, paying attention to her. She’ll take what she can get.

She’s not qualified for this. She’s an RA, for god’s sakes, twenty-one years old. They gave her about two hours of training on what to do with depressed freshman, and most of the focus was on minor homesickness. 

She’s gotten him to respond, she’s with him, he’s probably not going to hurt himself. She’s gotten him in for an appointment in the morning, so he’ll get professional help. SHe’s done everything she should.

It feels like she’s swimming out of her depth, but at least she’s treading water.

“So, who do you want to take you to your appointment tomorrow?” she asks. “Someone really should go with you, I just wanna make sure they know and are ready.”

Sam blinks up at her. “Could…could you?” he asks, blushing and looking down again. “I’m sure you’re busy, sorry, just…”

He doesn’t finish, but she thinks he means to say he doesn’t have anyone else. Which is really unacceptable. She makes a mental note to pester him into coming along to some hall events once he’s on his feet again.

“Sure thing, I’ll come,” she says cheerfully. “Prefer it that way, honestly. Which means you have an appointment at ten AM, and we’ll leave at nine, okay?”

Sam nods. “You leaving now?”

There’s no way she’s leaving him, even if she thinks he’s off whatever ledge he might have been on. “Nope. Have my laptop for a reason, kid. Let’s see what we can find.”

She moves onto his bed, turning the screen so they both can see it, and sets to keeping them both entertained through tonight’s long vigil.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s amazing what time can do. Sam’s been seeing the counselor for four months now, and while he still has bad days, he’s doing infinitely better. He’s out of bed, back to class, homework back on track.

It’s his second semester of college, and Toni really thinks the kid is going to make it.

Every Thursday, she’s stuck inside the dorms because she has the duty phone. Every Thursday, Sam brings her up dinner and they sit in her room together, watching TV. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don’t.

She takes the salad with a smile. “Thanks, Sam. How’re you doing?”

“Good,” he says after a split-second of thinking about it. “It’s been a good week.”

“Yeah? You finish that sociology project?”

“Mhm. How’s your math class coming?”

She groans. “Let’s not talk about it.”

He gives her one of those shy smiles. She gets more and more lately. “I could…look at your problem set for you?”

“How does the pre-law kid end up being the math genius?”

He shrugs. “I was a Mathlete. Uh, big nerd. Yeah.”

He’s awkward, too, but it’s endearing. To make up for his awkwardness, he takes a big bite of salad, then sets his bowl aside for the moment.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll have you take a look when we’re done eating. If you’re sure you don’t mind. Maybe you can explain some things to me.”

He’s done that for her a few times already, and the truth is, the kid isn’t a bad teacher. 

“So, what’s up this week?” she asks. It’s almost spring break, just a week shy now, but she has a feeing Sam doesn’t have anymore plans now than he did last week.

“Therapy on Monday. Classes. Uh, I’ll be here over break, I guess.”

He trails off, but she’s gotten the idea he has nothing to go back to, and hopes he’s talking about that with his therapist, too. No one should have left this kid alone in the world. He’s thriving again and that’s great, but he’s just a kid. He deserves a family that wants to see him.

She’s going on a roadtrip with friends, and she wishes their car wasn’t full so she could invite Sam along. But it is, and it would probably be weird anyways.

“You have my number, right?” She checks. “Just in case. Because you can call whenever, if you need me.”

He gives her that shy smile again. “I know.”

“Good,” she says, then gestures to his salad. “C’mon. We’re missing half the show.”


End file.
